"Cruelty," by Ashtoreth, copyright 1993 William Haas
 Cinnamon (c) B. Thomas
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

This story was written in response to a story that Cinnamon wrote a while
back called "Having a Few Friends For Dinner".  Kind of a snuff-porn piece
about a wolf forcing his fox pet to help him kill off the fox's friends.
I found it very disturbing, and I was told that it was meant to be "sexy and
arousing," which disturbed me even more.  Finally, to get it out of my
system, I wrote this piece.  It doesn't pretend to be erotic or sexy; it's
meant to be horrible and clinical.

After I started distributing this, I actually had people be angry at me
because I wrote something so nasty, because they felt the original story
wasn't that bad.  I guess it depends on what upsets you, physical cruelty
or mental cruelty.  The physical torture in Cinnamon's story was almost
cartoony and comical, but the mental torment was extremely heartless.  As
I said at the time, I guess this is a credit to the person who wrote the
story, that it had so much impact, but nevertheless I had to write this
reply, unkind as it is.

If you haven't read the story I wrote this in response to, I strongly
suggest that you find it and read it first; otherwise the impact of this
one will be lessened, and you won't get why I'm having this fox be so
senselessly evil towards this unsuspecting wolf.

If you're squeamish, even a little squeamish, don't read this.  It is
precisely machined for effect.  I warned you.
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		Feeling claustrophobic
		Like the walls are closing in
		Blood stains on my hands and
		I don't know where I've been.
		I'm in trouble for the things
		I haven't got to yet.
		I'm sharpening the axe and my
		palms are getting wet.

                                --"Sweating Bullets" by Megadeth

Cinnamon looked up from the book he had been reading. As the chime of
the doorbell faded away, he glanced up at a naked, dejected-looking
fox who had been standing at the entrance to the parlor. Without
hesitation the fox left the room to answer the front door.

The wolf smiled to himself and put the book aside, upon the armrest of
his chair, and waited for his guest to enter. Typically his servant
would have announced the arrival, but from what he had learned of his
guest, Cinnamon suspected that the appearance of the fox who served
him would detract from the guest's enjoyment of the atmosphere
Cinnamon had hoped to create for him. The servant opened the door and
promptly vanished into some other part of the house.

Cinnamon stood in a relaxed, unthreatening pose, leaning upon the
mantelpiece of the large, rugged fireplace, gazing into the flames,
so that he might look unconcerned.

Through the parlor doorway padded a slim, wiry fox with long dark
hair, wearing a black jacket of smooth tailoring and a pair of loose
grey trousers which were probably meant to be unprovocative but only
served to emphasize the forms beneath. He looked with obvious interest
around the parlor, apparently quite impressed with the decor. Cinnamon
stepped forward lightly to greet his guest.

"Ashtoreth, welcome," said Cinnamon, holding out his large hand to the
fox, who took it firmly and shook it once. "I'm glad that your
schedule allowed you to accept my invitation after all."

"Well, I got lucky, and the work sort of cleared itself away," said
the fox, grinning a little, looking ingratiatingly uncertain. He took
off the dark glasses he had entered with and put them in his pocket.
"I hope I didn't catch you unawares... I mean, it *is* very short notice."

The wolf chuckled. "Unaware? Not at all. In fact," he said, "I was so
hoping you would be able to make it." Cinnamon had met the fox in a
sushi parlor on the south side of town. They had discussed business,
they had discussed politics, and once the time came for Ashtoreth to
return to work, Cinnamon had, with just the right amount of fatalism,
suggested that they get together at his place for supper, and to
continue the conversation, of course. The fox explained that he would
probably have to decline, but would keep it in mind; but Cinnamon
could see by the familiar sheen in the fox's eyes that Ashtoreth
wanted badly to meet the wolf in a more private setting. And now, here
he was, as expected. Cinnamon grinned widely at his guest.

Ashtoreth looked around. "This is an incredible house you have here,
Cinnamon," he said in an admiring voice, his eyes roving over the
furnishings. "I've only got the studio. Would you mind if I looked
around before we ate?"

"Please, let me show you my home," said the wolf, with a confiding
smile. "This, as you can see, is the parlor. You've seen the hall,
so forgive me if I omit that room." He chuckled, the fox's voice
politely joining his. "If you will follow me, this way is the
kitchen." He led Ashtoreth towards a doorway which opened beneath
the staircase.

The fox followed him closely, gazing as he had been all around him,
taking in the rich (but not detestfully rich) furnishings of
Cinnamon's home. Cinnamon heard Ashtoreth ooh softly at the vast
expanse of chrome and black enamel, and felt he had found the fox's
weak spot. *He likes to cook,* thought the wolf, *how ironic it is.*

Cinnamon felt a hand settle upon his shoulder. He might have flinched
at the unexpected touch if it had come from another wolf, but he had
carefully orchestrated this sort of engagement dozens of times, and
was calm. It was just a fox. Inwardly, he smiled.

"You have a *lovely* kitchen," murmured Ashtoreth, looking around the
excellently-appointed facility.

Cinnamon smiled more openly. "Well, I do what I can." He halted as he
reached the doorway to the dining room, his massive form filling the
archway. "But here is the meal which I promised." Beyond him, upon the
table was laid out a small feast of atypical finery; but usually his
guests were unable to see past him until he had actually entered the
dining room. He began to turn his head towards his hesitant guest, to
smile reassuringly.

The fox did not stop, pushing gently up behind the wolf, pressing his
body to Cinnamon's. The wolf allowed himself a secret, wicked smile as
Ashtoreth snuggled up behind him, his suspicions confirmed as the fox's
small hand brushed lightly over his hip and belly. *He is such a
trusting little fool,* thought Cinnamon. *I've never had one as easy
as... this?* He felt a tiny flower of pain in his haunch.

Ashtoreth rubbed his muzzle against the wolf's back as he pushed the
needle of the tiny syringe into the fleshy part of the wolf's hip and
squeezed the handles together with a quiet *tack*, the clear fluid
vanishing through the needle into Cinnamon's body.

"Aah," said Cinnamon, as if beginning to comment querulously upon this
action, and then he fell forward, tumbling heavily and hitting the
floor with a thud which shook the walls of the wolf's house.

Ashtoreth pulled a small silenced automatic from beneath the tails of
his coat, where he had placed it before leaving his home. He held the
gun on the prone form of the wolf, his eyes never leaving it, and
reached for a barbecue fork he'd spotted while looking the kitchen over,
his hand blindly settling directly upon the handle. In a swift silent
movement he stuck it into the meat of Cinnamon's calf, the tines sinking
in sickeningly to what should have been living, reactive tissue. The wolf
made no sound, no movement.

The fox relaxed visibly and placed the fork on the kitchen counter,
and lowered his gun. Ashtoreth studied the wolf, gauging how much he
must weigh and deciding how he was going to move him... there was
movement at the doorway to the entrance hall. The gun seemed to move
of its own accord, to come to bear upon the hunched figure of a fox,
naked, his body pierced in numerous places by tiny, jingling rings.
Erik, his information told him, was the other fox's name.

The two foxes stared, their individual attentions focused on different
things. Ashtoreth gazed at the huddled, wretched form before him, and
swallowed, slowly lowering the automatic, thumbing the hammer
carefully back into place. As he watched the other fox shuddered, his
hands to his muzzle in a gesture of mounting horror, and crouched down
beside the unconscious wolf. Erik whined, his eyes wide, almost
bulging from their sockets, and with great trepidation raised his
muzzle to look the other fox in the eyes.

Ashtoreth held out his hand in a warding gesture. "Shhhh... it's all
right... it's going to be all right now."

The other fox stared at him, as if not comprehending, and then
suddenly sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut, falling to his knees. He
yelped as he settled onto Cinnamon's shoulder, and scuttled away as if
he'd touched something loathsome, falling back on his ass and whining,
his chest hitching with sobs now, rocking his small wasted body. His
cries were indistinct, a single croaking whine as he buried his head
between his knees.

"It's okay," whispered Ashtoreth, "It'll be okay. He's going away now.
You'll be free soon...."

Erik whined quietly, trying to curl tighter and tighter into himself.
"No..." he murmured. "...no... I can't..."

Ashtoreth moved forward, his jaw trembling, and reached to grip the
other fox's shoulder, but Erik pulled away, crawling backward across
the floor of the dining room. "No!" he cried. "Don't touch me...
please..." He sunk into the space between the dining table and the
wall, whimpering to himself.

"It'll be okay... they can--"

The other fox cried out in rasping anguish, rolling his head back on
his shoulders, chest hitching weakly. "Ohhhh... the things he made me
do... helped him kill..." Erik bit his lower lip, a bright flash of
blood spilling down his chin as he bit through; he seemed totally
unaware that he'd done it. "Made me kill other foxes... made me...
help murder my... my friends..." Erik trailed off, his body locked
with tension as he huddled in the space between the furniture and the
dining room wall, muzzle pointed at the ceiling as he stared. Ashtoreth
felt his own chest beginning to tighten, and he swallowed again.

He gritted his teeth and looked down at Cinnamon... for a long moment
he fought the urge to kill the unconscious wolf, end it right there.
At the end of that moment he drew a deep breath and let it go, shaking
his head. Ashtoreth returned his attention to Erik.

Erik was reaching for his gun. Ashtoreth pulled back, raising it, and
the other fox flinched, but his shaking hand inexorably extended
towards the weapon. Guardedly Ashtoreth let Erik touch the stubby
silencer of the automatic, watching him. "Please..." rasped Erik,
his thin fingers tugging on the weapon. Ashtoreth let his hand be
guided, and bit his own lip as the other fox held the barrel to his
chest... it was not entirely unexpected. Erik just choked "...please..."

Ashtoreth nodded and stood, holding his weapon on the kneeling fox.

Erik swallowed, breathed deeply a couple of times, and closed his
eyes, nodding softly. Ashtoreth whispered "Sleep well, brother," and
squeezed the trigger. Erik looked almost surprised as he was struck
behind the temple, before the second shot took him down to the floor,
in a mist of blood and something less pleasant. Ashtoreth put another
two rounds in the back of his head, and sighed, his arm falling
limply to his hip.

Stuffing the gun beneath his coat again, Ashtoreth put his arms around
Cinnamon's shoulders and hefted the dead weight of the wolf onto his
back with great difficulty, staggering under his weight, and carried
him to the back door of the house.

                             * * *

Cinnamon's consciousness returned to him as though he were rising
through multiple layers of gauze, each one tearing aside to make what
lay before his eyes a little clearer, until, as he blinked, he could
make out his surroundings. He was not in his house.

He wanted to get up, and didn't. He couldn't move. There was no
"started to move" involved in it... he was utterly unable to move.
Furiously he jerked his body and was rewarded with a deep physical
ache in his arms and legs and neck.

"That would not be to your advantage," said a remotely familiar voice.

The fox. He remembered the fox now, he remembered that he was meant to
be having the fox over for dinner, and for the first time he really
looked at what was before him which was, predictably, the fox.

The fox was naked, a very slim and delectable example of the species,
and an unconcerned region of Cinnamon's mind thought how he would have
enjoyed raping the fox cruelly before the evening's festivities had
truly commenced. He was sparsely muscled, as if only having what mass
he required to function, his fur fitting smoothly to him and his long
tail adding to his appeal as a plaything. His sheath, Cinnamon
noticed, was rather thick for a fox, but of more immediate interest
was the small knife which the fox-- Ashtoreth was its name, he
remembered-- was holding in its contemptible little black paw. There
wasn't just one knife, there were many... many small cruel sharp
things scattered about on the counters and tables which Cinnamon now
noticed as his tunnel-vision eased. He was also in a small,
claustrophobic room, and a dark one.

"Ah, I see you are awake," said Ashtoreth, simply so he could say it.
"Very good."

Cinnamon could move his head, a little. With that and by rolling his
eyes as far down as they could usefully track, he could see that he
was laying against a tilted board, not bound by anything as far as he
could tell-- wait. There were odd metal strips laying across portions
of his body, partly covered by his coat. He was naked also, so he had
felt when he regained consciousness, his familiar handsome lupine body
stretching out below him. The strips of metal felt of an unearthly
coldness which seemed to sink into his flesh--

"You cannot move," said Ashtoreth. "You cannot move, because you are
bolted to this table by a number of u-bolts passing through your flesh
and encircling your bones." Cinnamon's eyes widened
uncharacteristically as his mind put what his eyes and body told him
together and he knew that it was the unbelievable truth. Immediately
he jerked against them again, snarling at the fox. "They are quite
secure, I can assure you," purred Ashtoreth. "The best you can do
would be to break your bones against the bolts, and then you wouldn't
be able to move anyway, and if you did--" He held up his automatic.
"--I have this."

Cinnamon jerked himself against his bonds a few more times, but his
mind nagged, telling him he was going to damage himself just as the
fox had said. He held still and regarded the fox with a glare of death.

"I would prefer not to use it," said Ashtoreth. "There is so much I
wish to share with you." He put the gun aside, on a far table.

"You will release me," growled Cinnamon.

Ashtoreth shook his head curtly. "No, I won't."

"You *will* release me!" snarled the wolf, his voice thunderous in the
small chamber but not seeming to carry.

The fox ignored his demands and continued. "You were rendered
unconscious by a potent neuromuscular suppressant which brings about a
state of hibernation... to others you will look for all the world like
you are dead. While you were under its effects I boosted the dosage so
that you wouldn't wake up unconveniently, while I was attaching you to
this table." Cinnamon looked down at his trapped body again. *Had* he
really slept through that? "I have also been injecting you with a
compound which resists the body's tendency to go into traumatic shock,
and also enhances your ability to suppress bleeding by localized
contraction of your muscles." The wolf's gaze happened to fall upon
several books on a high shelf, and with his strengthening vision he
picked out some titles... Gray's Anatomy... Unabridged Encyclopaedia
of Toxins... "Don't get any ideas about being a superwolf and being
able to take unearthly damage. The duration of this compound's effect
is *very* limited, and I must keep injecting you with it for it to
remain effective." The fox grinned up at him, his voice softening from
the matter-of-fact tone with which he had described Cinnamon's current
chemical profile. "I am telling you all this because it entertains
*me* and it will probably disturb *you*, which will entertain me even
more."

"You *will* release me *now*, fox, and I might only strangle you
dead," muttered Cinnamon menacingly, wanting to make it clear that he
meant nothing else. Except that for an imposition such as this he
would never let the fox die so easily.

Ashtoreth shook his head again, resolutely ignoring the wolf. "And
now, to make sure that our relationship gets off on the right track, I
have a little procedure I wish to share with you." The corner of his
mouth turned upwards, and he reached easily for a syringe which had
already been primed and tapped. Without any ado he slipped it into
Cinnamon's lower abdomen and emptied its contents into his body.

"We will need a few minutes, for the local anaesthetic to take
effect," purred the fox. He padded over to one of the nearer tables
and poked about the collection of implements. Cinnamon watched him
with a kind of fascination, realization dawning that escape and
retribution would not be a simple accomplishment. "There are those,"
confided the fox, "in my occupation, who would never *dream* of using
anaesthetic... but I believe that sometimes feeling nothing at all is
worlds more effective than pain can ever be. Can you feel this?" The
fox poked him in the belly with a tiny triangular blade.

Cinnamon winced, and hesitated before he growled, lulled as he was by
Ashtoreth's soft voice. Oh, how he ached to hear that foxish voice
call out in pain! He felt faint stirrings in his loins at the thought.

"Just checking," said the fox, grinning. He hummed to himself as he
reached for instruments with certainty now, discarding the little
knife, lining them up in a clear spot before himself. Humming and the
clink of fine metal on metal were the only sounds besides Cinnamon's
excited breathing. Ashtoreth padded up to him again, and stood so
infuriatingly close... his arm moved, and Cinnamon instinctively
followed it, seeing the tip of a scalpel pushed into his pubic ruff.
He felt nothing. The only word that came to mind was "dead."

"We're ready," purred the fox.

Cinnamon's lips drew back in a snarl, out of instinct, but his mind
worked and told him that this was all horribly wrong. "Stop," he
grumbled through his clenched teeth, and was startled to hear a note
of... something other than authority in his voice.

Ashtoreth licked his teeth impishly. "I like a little music, don't
you?" he said, scraping the scalpel and a larger curved knife against
each other in what had to be a deliberate manner. He padded over to a
portable stereo placed at the far wall, and switched it on, wasting
more time attending to it, clearly waiting for something that was
supposed to unsettle Cinnamon even more. Cinnamon's lip curled upward
in a sneer and he looked balefully at Ashtoreth.

Ashtoreth looked back, the corner of his mouth perking up cautiously
now and then as he studied Cinnamon's eyes. The music started,
something with noisy electric guitars. They watched each other.

Cinnamon's mouth fell open in a gasp as his traitorous subconscious
put pieces together and troubled him with the results. Ashtoreth
immediately grinned as he saw the desired response, and began to advance
upon the wolf. Cinnamon stared ahead, his breath hissing through his
teeth as he listened to the song, and recognized it and recognized it
and recognized it. It was "Love Removal Machine" by the Cult, and he
had heard it before.

                                * * *

Cinnamon was panting by the time the "procedure" was over. He had
tried hard not to watch, which shouldn't have been difficult given the
way his head was locked to the table he rested against; but his mind
screamed at him insistently demanding to know how he could stare at
the ceiling and not be concerned about what the fox was doing to him,
and so he had looked down suddenly to see Ashtoreth busily flaying his
pubis and groin, peeling away the fur and skin and finally tossing his
sheath aside on the table like an unwanted scrap of clothing, leaving
his penis naked and vulnerable, not to mention very bloody. ...*not to
mention*...  He finally managed to tear his gaze away, wanting to
scream but biting his tongue resolutely, making nothing but a strained
gulping noise. He looked at the ceiling of this little room, examining
it, pleading to himself to find it fascinating.

An eternity seemed to pass before his curiosity ate at him again. He
couldn't feel a thing down there. Steeling himself with the most
gruesome visions he would allow, Cinnamon looked down at himself
again. Ashtoreth pulled the wolf's cock gently from him, the roots
coming free as well, ending in an abrupt slice, leaving an impossible
cavity in his loins. Cinnamon gagged and mercifully blacked out.

Awake again, the wolf looked down along his body. His belly and groin
were naked, raw muscle, devoid of his wolfhood... Cinnamon's mind
could barely grasp it. Instead there was a small glistening red slit,
folds of naked flesh held apart to either side by tiny hooked rods
which snagged into the skin of his thighs and hips, keeping the
opening spread... the symbolism was not lost on him for a moment.
Above this, a narrow catheter looped over his hip and led behind the
table, presumably to a receptacle somewhere; it was for him to piss
through. The anasthetic was wearing away, leaving Cinnamon with
growing, burning pain. 

"Awake again, my dear?" said Ashtoreth cheerfully, as if they were in
someone's sitting room.

Ashtoreth's words were drowned out by Cinnamon's snarl of rage. His
cock was lost and that's all there was to it, and beyond that
particular rational leap lay any retribution that could be had.

Ashtoreth held aloft a largish spherical bowl which contained the
wolf's excised cock and testicles. Cinnamon stared dumbly at it for a
second, and then turned on the fox again, not allowing himself to be
broken. "You might get this back later," said the fox, whisking away
the bowl and putting it in a small refrigerator beneath one of the
tables.

Cinnamon twisted his body against the bolts restraining him, with all
his might. "No fox has ever suffered as much as you will when I am
freed, Ashtoreth!" He spat the fox's name, his eyes seething. "I will
rape you with carving knives and glass... you will pray for as
pleasant a fate as my Erik has had! I will fry you in a pan and have
you for my supper, Ashtoreth..." He pronounced the fox's name slowly
and deliberately, making the point that he would never forget it.

The fox raises his eyebrows endulgently. "Are you done?" he said
softly, massaging his lithe fingers.

"I--" the wolf started to say, his voice raised in readiness for
another vehement mouthful.

"Good," said the fox, all the cheeriness going out of his voice.
"Let's get something clear." Ashtoreth's lips drew back in a snarl,
and he clambered up onto Cinnamon's immobile body. "You are not going
to do *anything*," Ashtoreth murmured. "You are a piece of furniture
and nobody knows where you are and you are truly fucked. Your little
friend Erik is dead. I shot him, myself. He is dead in your dining
room, and you are *missing* and you were *wounded* when you left." The
fox pressed his nose to Cinnamon's, laying his body along the wolf's,
his voice steadily rising. "That's what the *police* know. That isn't
all they know. I left them lots of useful clues... you have no idea
how long you've been out, do you? The cops have been all over your
house for days... they're probably turning up skeletons in your
basement floor right about now. I don't think all those personal
effects and IDs are going to help, either, not to mention Erik's
particular physical state at the time of his death... am I making
myself clear, Cinnamon?!" The fox was screaming at him now. Cinnamon
tried to put some distance between his face and Ashtoreth's, taken
aback by behavior he was unaccustomed to finding in a fox, and met
only hard wood. "You have *no* life to go back to! No one is going to
stick their neck out for you, and no one will be coming to find you!
You are MINE!" Ashtoreth sunk his short claws beneath Cinnamon's
collarbones. "Do you understand me?! MINE!"

Ashtoreth snarled in mindless rage and locked his small jaws around
Cinnamon's muzzle, needle-sharp teeth sinking in. Cinnamon yelped and
whined, unable to stop himself, only able to helplessly loathe himself
as he felt his control slipping, submitting to this *fox*. The
yearning for impossible escape rang through his mind.

"I have friends," said Cinnamon, almost whimpering now, when Ashtoreth
released his muzzle, "other wolves, who know how foxes like *you*
should be treated. *They* will come find me." He swallowed, hope
flickering in his eyes.

The fox grinned with contempt, showing his pink-stained canines.
"Cinnamon, you are the *alpha*... the last thing they will do is come
get you and bring you back." Ashtoreth chuckled in his gentle fox
voice; Cinnamon would have ripped himself apart an hour ago to destroy
the fox, but now he whined.

Ashtoreth bit his tonguetip, grinning at the wolf, and pressed his
hips to Cinnamon's. "The alpha... bitch?" purred Ashtoreth, rubbing
his hips against Cinnamon's blood-slimed belly, sparkling twinges of
pain filling the wolf's loins whenever the fox's sheath or a strand of
fur or anything brushed that bloody slit.

Scrambling off, the fox adjusted some mechanism behind the table,
tilting it to a more gentle angle, and climbed back aboard, straddling
Cinnamon's hips. Ohhing quietly to himself, and licking his sharp
teeth, Ashtoreth's spidery black hand rubbed over his heavy sheath,
kneading it, teasing the cock within, until the swollen glans began to
press forth from it. Cinnamon watched, transfixed and panting; part of
his mind told him how lovely it would be to twist the fox's cock and
balls until he screamed, while another observed how full and luscious
the fox was, and still another, broken part droned *escape*. Ashtoreth
mmmmmmmed quietly, his hips twitching and bucking, his fox-cock
slithering free of its furry sheath, which pulled taut behind the
shiny knot at the base.

Ashtoreth looked into the wolf's eyes, licking his lips. He was at
least as well-endowed as a wolf... Cinnamon whined, begging for
withdrawal, for unconsciousness, murmuring "...foxes don't do this..."
over and over to himself.

"Ohh, what a pretty wolf-cunt you have," murmured Ashtoreth, petting
the obscenity below Cinnamon's belly, the stinging pain growing into
heat as well. He mmmmmed quietly and stretched out along the wolf's
body, guiding the huge taut glans against the wound, rubbing it there,
a large stinging droplet of thick wet running into the slit from the
opening at the tip of the fox's cock. Cinnamon yelped and moved not at
all, unable to. Ashtoreth emitted a gentle mrrrm and pushed his svelte
hips forward, his glans spreading Cinnamon open wide and disappearing
into his belly. Cinnamon wailed as though he'd been stabbed.

"You're so warm inside," cooed the fox with a note of pleased wonder
in his voice. Clutching Cinnamon's shoulders, he slowly pushed his
thickly-tapering shaft into the helpless wolf, the bloody passage
slick and tight. Ashtoreth closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering in
exquisite pleasure, as Cinnamon's wound seemed to suckle at him.
Lightly he moved his hips a tiny distance in and out, rubbing himself
inside the wolf, closing his eyes and groaning softly to himself, lost
in whatever pleasure could be found in the hideous new void in
Cinnamon's belly. As the wolf watched, Ashtoreth opened his eyes again
and bit his tonguetip, smiling, as his hips fucked the wolf, moving in
tiny circles. The wolf emitted a gurgling whine, also lost in the
sensations, of pain, of violation, the situation thoroughly alien to
him. The fox flexed his pulsing erection, and Cinnamon swore he was
being ripped further open, vision blurring in his pain... when it
cleared Ashtoreth was looking at him again, in the same way he... it
had when he had recognized the music. Cinnamon was growing to hate the
expression with every fibre of himself that remained.

Ashtoreth growled and purred again, leaning in to touch noses with the
wolf. "It won't be long now, until your fox fills you," he purred...
Cinnamon mustered enough of his remaining self-respect to gnash at the
insolent fox, but didn't get the chance... waves of sharp percussive
pain rolled through his abdomen as the fox suddenly quickened its
thrusts, each one feeling like the strike of a powerful fist in his
belly as the fox's cock passed through the muscles, pressed into his
guts, the massive knot ripping him further open each time it struck.
"Ohh, yes, good tight *obedient* wolf," purred Ashtoreth, his voice
becoming a little hoarse. Cinnamon barely heard it, the agony of being
mortally fucked eroding his consciousness. Ashtoreth let out a gentle
ohhh, and his cock somehow stretched larger, feeling with the pain
like it would crack Cinnamon's pelvis open, and the fox shoved his
bloodstained knot into the wolf's raw, abused wound, rrrrowling
quietly, the fox-cock leaping inside, spilling its accursed load forth
as the fox's testicles swelled and pulled tight to his groin.

Cinnamon whined in anguish and blacked out at last.

                                * * *

The fox was standing over him when Cinnamon woke up, dabbing something
around his eye which felt cool and numbing. The wolf blinked, and
Ashtoreth raised his eyebrows, noticing Cinnamon's consciousness. He
hurriedly circled the wolf's eye with what turned out to be a cotton
ball, and dropped it aside.

"I've given you a little something to calm you down," said Ashtoreth
softly. "How are you feeling?"

Cinnamon did not feel all that bad, he judged. The pain was still
there, in his belly and groin, but it seemed like someone's concern
other than his now, sort of distant and incidental. Indeed when he
looked down he saw that Ashtoreth had cleaned his slit, leaving the
flesh clean and shiny; as he watched the fox swabbed it with a square
of gauze, moistening it and the exposed muscles.

"I... I feel fine, fox," muttered the wolf, finding it difficult to
find his voice.

Ashtoreth smiled endulgently, discarding the gauze. "Good. Oh, and you
may address me by "Ashtoreth," or "master." My friends call me Ashy,
but I fear you're not prepared for that level of intimacy. Do you
understand?" he said gently.

Cinnamon thought it sounded perfectly ridiculous, but he didn't care;
it didn't matter. "Ashtoreth," he murmured, smiling.

"We're going to perform another procedure, so that I can be assured of
having your full attention when it is required," said the fox. "I've
anaesthetized the area, because pain is not a necessary component.
This is purely surgical."

*Yeah, whatever you want,* thought Cinnamon. *Remove my head if you
feel like it... I'm not using it anyhow.* The wolf chuckled softly.

Ashtoreth bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Cinnamon's breath
caught in his throat as his confused mind puzzled over what to make of
this; but the fox had departed the tableside and was choosing
instruments again. Cinnamon could see that he had scrubbed his own
belly as scrupulously as the wolf's, leaving it thick, pale white again.
Before long he returned, and pressed something at the folds of skin
around Cinnamon's eye. Cinnamon felt nothing, but surprise that time
had passed so quickly.

"I've become quite good at this," purred the fox cordially. "I promise
I won't hurt your eye."

Cinnamon smiled up at him without the slightest concern. *Take the
eye, what the hell....* It was only when the small scalpel descended
into his field of vision that Cinnamon felt discomfort at its
proximity, and his eyes began to water.

"Don't look at the knife, Cinnamon," said the fox. "You'll only make
yourself tense."

"I can hardly help it, fox-- Ashtoreth," said the wolf.

"I know, I know," murmured Ashtoreth softly. "Let's talk about
something and take your mind off the procedure, shall we?"

Cinnamon nodded, and thought, as the fox seemed to be waiting for him
to begin. "Why?" he said at last. "Why have you brought me here?"

Ashtoreth unhurriedly did his work. "You've murdered a great many
foxes, Cinnamon." Cinnamon nodded, moving what little he could, eager
to take credit for this. "Don't move," spat the fox softly. Cinnamon
held still. "I'm uncertain that you really think of it as murder,
rather than the slaughtering of cattle." Cinnamon would have nodded
again if he'd been able to. "Some of my friends were among those you
killed; and when it became clear that they were disappearing I became
curious, and through surveillance located you. Our meeting was not by
accident, Cinnamon."

Cinnamon mmmed a little, in lieu of a nod. Everything seemed so clear,
and it seemed obvious now that he had been set up. "You wish to punish
me for killing your friends," he said.

Ashtoreth nodded. "Yes, but that is not all of it." Cinnamon felt a
tightness in the skin around his eye socket, his eye watering
furiously now. "You are a danger to foxes, not just in your own
actions, but in what you represent. Your actions could inspire many
other atrocities, and I cannot let that happen. I must protect my
people; and my people have very definite ideas about what must be done
to forces that threaten them. This arrangement will work out best for
both races."

Cinnamon looked very uncomfortable now, whether because of the talk or
the irritation in his eye, and Ashtoreth dabbed at the socket with
another piece of gauze before resuming his work.

"You intend to break me, to make an example of me," said the wolf,
with no passion.

Ashtoreth shook his head. "I do not intend to break you, as you had
broken Erik. I wish to uncover whatever secrets are in your head, that
motivate your particular desires, and change them."

"You want to break me."

"No, Cinnamon. Breaking someone is a very crude process. You must know
by now that my work is very precise, and that I will adjust your mind
as delicately as I am adjusting your body." Ashtoreth tightened
something else in Cinnamon's skin. His eyeball felt very cold and
naked. "Perhaps it is only a difference in precision, but I will learn
more about you by being careful with you. It's no different than
taking apart a clock, or some piece of electronics. I wish to have
something to put back together again when I'm done. There are others
who are watching my work closely, awaiting results."

"Other foxes," spat Cinnamon, mustering momentary interest.

Ashtoreth shook his head. "Other wolves."

Cinnamon held his breath. He simply couldn't believe this. "No," he said.

Ashtoreth nodded. "It's true. You are a threat to your own kind as
well as to foxes. As your views slowly become more prevalent you are
viewed by foxes as the norm, and foxes are not as meek and helpless as
you believe." The fox bent over him, looking him in the eye which was,
he found, now impossible to close. "The wolves don't want a racial
war. Your actions are pushing the foxes to a state where they will see
no other alternative... you are threatening your own species as well
as theirs, Cinnamon. How could you be so selfish?"

Cinnamon swallowed. "I... I didn't know." he gasped, wishing he could
close his eye.

"You didn't *think,*" growled Ashtoreth very quietly.

Cinnamon had no particular love for the wolves he knew, either, but
they were his own kind. "They would not betray me," he whispered.
"Foxes would not dare fight back. Not against wolves...."

"Your people *did* betray you, Cinnamon. They selected me to correct you."

"It's not true..."

"Your people wanted you dead, because you were a problem. I suggested
correcting you, and so you were allowed to live, on the condition--"

"It's not true!!" Cinnamon tried to squeeze the open eye shut, but it
was like the muscles weren't there. He couldn't move his head and the
terrible fox wouldn't stop saying terrible things to his face.

"--on the condition that I correct you fully. In fact, the one person
involved who wished you to be left entirely unmolested was your
servant, Erik. A fox." Cinnamon sniffled, tears mixing with the water
and thin blood in his eye. "Oh, how he cried when he found your body
in the kitchen, learned that we were taking you away after all. He had
to be shot, to maintain the secrecy of this operation. He died
breathing your name, the fox you tormented and abused for so long.
Your only friend, Cinnamon."

Cinnamon sobbed quietly, the one eye staring at the ceiling, as the
fox moved out of his vision. He found himself crying for Erik... the
little fox had never betrayed him, had always been predictably
faithful, and attentive... he had never realized how much he depended
on the fox, how all his misdirected affection and need had been
channelled into the domination and use of the little slave. His chest
hitched, snot running down into his throat until he could hardly
breathe. He wished he would just die.

Ashtoreth returned with a small mirror. "Voila," he said, holding it
before Cinnamon. Through tear-streaked vision the wolf saw his own
face, his right eyelid sliced into segments which radiated from the
socket, pinned to his face with little hooks. He didn't give it a
second glance... he only saw his expression... he had never seen a
more miserable wolf, and it didn't help him feel any better. "Erik..."
he moaned, and swallowed.

Cinnamon looked imploringly up at the fox, his lupine face ugly with
grief and remorse. "Please... please, Ashtoreth... I have seen the
light... I was wrong... I... loved him...." His face pinched, the
staring eye incongruent. "You were right... I'm cured... please...."

Ashtoreth shook his head softly, blinking a little. "No, Cinnamon. One
relevation does not a cure make. There is still much we must share.
But you are on your way."

Cinnamon's face pulled into a warding snarl, and he wailed at the
ceiling. "Then kill me... set me free... I beg of you, Ashtoreth, set
me free I can't live with my own thoughts that you've conjured up KILL
ME!"

The fox bent down and kissed the wolf's damp cheek, and then
straightened and left the room, leaving Cinnamon to cry to himself in
the dark.

                              * * *

The next day the fox led Cinnamon through his first unanaesthetized
procedure. Whatever Ashtoreth had given him the day before to calm him
had worn off, and as the fox described the procedure to be performed
Cinnamon grew more and more agitated. The fox spoke soothingly as he
injected Cinnamon with the booster of the anti-shock compound, and
then a nutrient shot, just to be thorough. This did not reassure
Cinnamon much as the procedure, the unified dissection of his right
arm, was described to him.

Ashtoreth began by flaying the skin from Cinnamon's right breast. The
wolf prepared himself for this, resolved not to cry out for as long as
he could manage to resist, but very shortly he was shrieking at the
top of his voice as the fox peeled away his chest fur, working towards
the shoulder. As the novelty wore off, so to speak, Cinnamon was able
to think again instead of just mindlessly scream, and he addressed
Ashtoreth directly, demanding to know what the vivisection was meant
to accomplish. The fox explained that Cinnamon must be shown that he
deserved suffering because of his actions in the past, a wholly
unsatisfactory answer to Cinnamon, and it turned into a shouting match
which resulted in Ashtoreth flinging down his flaying knife in disgust
and grabbing the automatic, rushing to the table and shoving the
now-unsilenced barrel beneath Cinnamon's jaw.

"Do you want this?" screamed the fox. "Do you?!"

"Yes!!" shouted the wolf in reply. "Do it now!"

Ashtoreth grabbed the scruff of Cinnamon's chest, which now had
painful incisions upon it, and pulled. The wolf gagged in pain. "You
are such a *waste*, do you know that? I work hard, trying to save you,
and you won't even help *me!*"

"Don't do me any favors, fox," growled Cinnamon. Ashtoreth whipped him
with the barrel of the gun, narrowly missing the naked eye, and
Cinnamon yelped. The fox held the barrel right up to that eye.

"Do you *really* want to die, Cinnamon?" growled the fox in a low voice.

"Yes!" barked Cinnamon, his teeth bared.

"Do you...?" whirred the fox, his voice inappropriately soft for the
tone of the conversation. He held the barrel steadily on Cinnamon's
eye, filling the wolf's vision with it.
"Yes, damn you," growled Cinnamon. The fox purred "Do you....?" again
as though he hadn't heard him. Cinnamon could just see Ashtoreth's
face over the lip of the barrel. The fox was licking his teeth, and
Cinnamon had never seen him look so... vacant... since he had met him.
The fox wasn't even looking at him.

Ashtoreth thumbed the hammer back. "...do you...?"

Cinnamon couldn't stand to look at him. He looked at the eye of the
barrel instead, which swam in his vision, blotting out everything else.
The fox did not repeat himself... the slight swaying of the gun with
Ashtoreth's heartbeat was the only indication that he was alive at all.
Cinnamon looked at the huge black circle, his mind wandering and
seizing upon all it had to work with, betraying him again. It was a
gun. It would kill him, destroy him totally. There was no redemption
there, no revenge, no hope at all.

After what seemed forever, Cinnamon rasped "Please... no."

Ashtoreth's finger tightened on the trigger.

Cinnamon could see the finger snaking tighter. "No... I said no, I
don't. Ashtoreth..."

The fox bared his teeth, spittle running from the corners of his mouth
into the ruffs of fur on his cheeks. The finger squeezed.

Panic grew in Cinnamon's eyes. "Ashtoreth, please... Ashtoreth!"

Ashtoreth's hand flinched to the side at the last minute, the board
beside Cinnamon's head exploding in a splash of slivers, the report
deafening in the small room. There was a long silence, and Cinnamon
began to sob. Ashtoreth quietly climbed down and put the gun away.

"You are alive," said the fox softly, "because I spoke up for you. You
live because I wished to save you. You will respect my wishes."

"Yes..." said Cinnamon very quietly, hesitantly adding "...master...."

Ashtoreth retrieved his flaying knife, washed it, and continued.

                             * * *

As the days stretched into weeks Cinnamon experienced a series of
torments the breadth and scope of which he'd never dreamed of. His
body was growing thin and wasted from a constant diet of nutrient
injections, his muscles atrophied from disuse, parts of his body
having no sensation at all, his fur matted or falling out in places.
Needle tracks as ingrained as any heroin addict's were up and down his
arms and legs, from the constant injection of vitamins, sedatives,
anasthetics, anti-shock boosters, tranquilizers.

The dissection of his arm had proceeded with its flaying from shoulder
to wrist, and the detachment of the major blood vessels and nerves
from the skin. Each muscle was severed at the lower tendon and affixed
to the table with an ordinary carpentry nail, the more delicate nerves
and veins and arteries secured with staples, all systems entirely
entact and functioning. Ashtoreth took the fur from the wolf's right
breast, including nipple and tiny jewelled ring, and nailed it to a
small board, displaying it on the wall of the room.

The unpleasantries continued, with the unanaesthetized removal of
teeth, of claws, the flaying of particularly sensitive regions, the
opening of windows in Cinnamon's chest and abdomen and thigh. In a
moment of inspiration Ashtoreth excised one of the muscles of
Cinnamon's right calf and broiled it in a pan over a laboratory
burner, seasoning it with some basil and parsley, and straddled the
wolf's hips, having his dinner, crumbs dropping into the portals
incised in Cinnamon's body. Ashtoreth offered a succulent piece of it
to the wolf, who devoured it without a second thought... his stomach
was unable to handle it and he vomited it back up, the fox lovingly
clearing his airway, making sure the wolf did not suffocate.
Eventually Ashtoreth had used crude plastic surgery to sculpt the slit
in Cinnamon's abdomen into a self-contained passage. It saw much
use by the fox, who used it to pleasure himself often, enforcing his
dominance over the wolf, who in turn grew to enjoy the tight filled
feeling. One night during a heated exchange Ashtoreth snarled in
midword and left the room, returning to thrust in Cinnamon's face
the spherical bowl containing his wolfhood, the meat inside crawling
with maggots, the fox's cruel grin twisted by the curvature of the
glass... Cinnamon screamed and screamed inconsolably, well into the
night, and for a while Ashtoreth was worried that he'd ruined all
his work... parts of the wolf's body were burned, stabbed, or incised
with odd designs or phrases; and always, between one torture and the
next, Cinnamon was given the calming drug, and a little kindness, and
they talked.

The talk was not always of the most relaxing sort. They discussed how
Cinnamon felt about foxes as time went on, what their proper station
in life was, and about what he had done to them, before. The wolf was
slowly encouraged to open up, to discuss his past, to debate what it
might have been that had led to his attitude towards foxes. They
talked about Erik, and what he had meant to Cinnamon, and when
Cinnamon made the mistake of using Erik's behavior as justification
for his treatment of foxes, Ashtoreth told him that he had lied, that
Erik begged to be murdered, anything to get away from the wolf, that
he would be waiting in Hell for him. The drugs made everything seem
very clear, easy to accept, and soon the wolf didn't know what to
believe anymore. The fox told him that the police had concluded that
Cinnamon had murdered Erik and then fled when Erik stabbed him in a
final act of resistance. He told Cinnamon that he had been convicted,
in absentia, of murder, that his life was worth nothing without
Ashtoreth's protection, that the wolves who had commissioned the
correction were growing impatient, were giving up, that a race war had
started already and wolves were dead in the streets and that it was
all because of what had been discovered at Cinnamon's house. Ashtoreth
wove lies and contradictions and before long didn't even bother making
ends match... Cinnamon had no reality to compare any of it to. Only a
few themes remained constant; that Ashtoreth loved him and wanted to
protect him and that he and all foxes were to be given nothing but the
greatest respect. And soon Ashtoreth had taken Cinnamon as far as he
could possibly go. The wolf blissfully accepted any torture or lie the
fox cared to dole out upon him. That was the day that Ashtoreth came
into his room and as he stroked his hair, told him he was cured.

The process of healing the wolf's broken body was much more arduous
than dismantling it had been. His arm was reassembled, though from
exposure and the vivisection it was badly crippled, useless for
anything but the simplest tasks. The exposed eye had long since gone
blind, and was removed, replaced with a pristine but sightless false
orb... Cinnamon wept with gratitude when it was given to him, as
though it were real, and Ashtoreth had to wipe a tear away from his
own eye. The wolf was removed from the table of pain, the back of his
body covered with bedsores which had to be excised and cleansed and
bound in thick absorbent bandages. Much of his body was without fur,
instead having bright pink skin like burn tissue, and the fox did what
he could to array what fur was left in a pleasing arrangment. During
the healing and convalescing process Cinnamon was moved, he was
startled to discover, upstairs into an ordinary house, set off a rural
road, somewhere. It took some time to get used to the concept of open
space, but Cinnamon was very grateful to be out of the tiny chamber.

The matter of Cinnamon's sexuality was discussed, and Ashtoreth had put
forth the idea of a genuine sex change, which involved surgery which
Ashtoreth did not have the capability to do correctly. It was not a
concern to Cinnamon whether he had any sexual identity or not, unless
it pleased Ashtoreth. The fox said that it didn't matter, and shook
his head, something odd in his eyes. He pointed out that there might
also be some restoring of Cinnamon's looks by these same surgeons, and
that the wolf had been quite handsome, before. The wolf looked forward
to this, believing it would make him more beautiful to his fox. In any
case Ashtoreth often made love to his wolf, taking him in his warm
slit or the tight hole beneath his tail... Cinnamon's prostate was
intact and he could often share in the well-endowed fox's orgasm.

Extensive physical therapy was required before the wolf could even
move properly... he had not lain on the table long enough to ruin his
body irrevocably, but in all that time he had not moved it at all, and
it took a while before he could make the weakened muscles work.
Ashtoreth would help him by bending his limbs for him, helping him to
complete flexion, slowly building up strength and mass. The process
took months, but at the end of that time Cinnamon could walk again,
slowly... Ashtoreth hugged him proudly the first time he made it
across the room on his own. He had a permanent limp, oweing to the
chunk of meat that had been taken out of his calf, and he would
shamble around the fox's home, exercising or spending long moments
looking out the window across the surrounding countryside. He also
became able to take solid food again, starting with some soft
vegetables and working his way up to fish and eventually small pieces
of meat. Ashtoreth himself took very little food as time went on; when
Cinnamon inquired, Ashtoreth admitted that he himself was nervous
about the inevitable reception with the individuals who had sanctioned
Cinnamon's correction, and his appetite was suffering as a result.
Cinnamon resolved to be that much more presentable.

One night, as they snuggled softly in the fox's bed, the fox curled
around the wolf from behind, Ashtoreth murmured into Cinnamon's ear
that he had decided that Cinnamon was finally strong enough to have
visitors. The wolves that he had spoken of many times would be coming
to see that Cinnamon had been cured of the behavior they had felt
threatened by, and Ashtoreth had no doubt that they would go away
pleased. They might, the fox whispered to him in the dark, take him
with them if that was what he desired. Cinnamon blinked, silent tears
running down his cheeks, and turned his head back to lap at
Ashtoreth's muzzle, expressing his desire to remain with the fox.
Ashtoreth kissed him softly and then smoothly mounted his wolf, his
thick fox-cock pushing Cinnamon's tightness open, fucking him rapidly
and roughly until with a growl he erupted explosively into Cinnamon's
bowels, the wolf's insides clenching him tight in response, and
Ashtoreth held him as they subsided. Cinnamon drifted off immediately,
exhausted by the exertion. A tear rolled down Ashtoreth's muzzle as
well as he curled up around the wolf.

                                  * * *

"--just this morning," said Ashtoreth, speaking on the phone in the
hall. He was wearing an airy white silk shirt and loose grey pants,
clearly very fine but casual clothing, and he cupped the receiver,
masking out any background sounds. "I will not be requesting
further compensation, of course... yes, sir... I will be submitting a
comprehe-- ... what was that, sir?... yes, it is regrettable. Thank
you, sir. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone and trotted into the living room, where he sat
on the plush couch in the living room, watching the stairs
attentively... before long Cinnamon made his way down them, dressed in
equally fine and casual clothing. He was still very thin but had
regained enough strength that he didn't move as an invalid did,
anymore... the limp remained, however. Ashtoreth stood and padded
forward, tail swishing, greeting him.

"How are you, my dear?" purred Ashtoreth, taking the wolf's hands in
his own and squeezing them, looking up into his eyes.

"I'm nervous, Ashtoreth," said the wolf, blinking a little. "What if
they don't believe I've been cured? What if they think I'm faking?
When I was... like I was, I would pretend to be something I was not.
*I* would not trust me... how can they--"

Ashtoreth shushed the nervous wolf and took him into his arms, holding
him for a moment. "They know I would not lie to them, and they know I
could not be coerced, not at this point. And I promise I won't let
them hurt you. Please relax, Cinnamon... they won't be here for a
couple of hours yet. Relax and enjoy the dinner I've prepared."

Cinnamon nodded assent and padded after Ashtoreth as he led Cinnamon
into the adjoining dining room, brightly lit through large windows
hung with gossamer white curtains, matching the linen tablecloth and
napkins and placemats. Ashtoreth pulled out a seat at the head of the
table for Cinnamon, who graciously sat down, smiling at the fox.

Ashtoreth smiled back and hugged the wolf from behind, resting his
chin on Cinnamon's shoulder, glancing up at him. "What do you think,
dear?" he purred.

Cinnamon blinked a little in bewilderment, looking over the elegant
but nonetheless empty table. "...pardon me, Ashtoreth?" he said,
stammering a little. "I don't understand."

"Of my dinner," said the fox engagingly, smiling.

Cinnamon jumped a little as he felt something prick his side. "...my
dinner..." said Ashtoreth again, placing the empty syringe on the
sideboard and catching Cinnamon, who had slumped forward in his seat.

The fox pulled him hurriedly out of his seat and hefted him, rather
easily since he had grown so thin, upon his shoulders.

Cinnamon stared upward with his one eye, his head rolling on a limp
neck... he couldn't look anywhere else... he couldn't move, was
paralyzed. He felt himself placed on something hard, guessed it was
the dining room table, and felt Ashtoreth ripping his shirt open as if
he were preparing to administer CPR to the wolf, but it wasn't his
heart it was his body he couldn't MOVE! He tried to speak, call out,
but he couldn't do that either. His body continued to draw breath and
he could feel and see but he had no control over it. Panic gripped
him, and fear that when he had been corrected his body had been
damaged too much to work properly anymore, and was failing now.
Cinnamon's breathing and heartbeat accelerated in response, but it was
the only sign he was aware.

Ashtoreth had pulled off all of his clothes... it helped Cinnamon to
breathe but he was still trapped in his body, just as surely as he had
been trapped on the table all those months ago... his heart leapt as
he remembered a shape he'd seen while the fox was carrying him to the
table... it was a syringe, on the sideboard. His mind froze after a
moment, leaving him wondering only what he had done wrong. The fox
pulled his own clothes off as well, and leaned down over Cinnamon.

"Cinnamon, can you hear me?" said Ashtoreth softly, trembling. "The
reason you can't move is that I've... injected you with something.
It... it paralyzes all voluntary motor functions of the body, as well
as suppressing pain, and I've mixed it..." The fox was shaking now.
"...with the anti-shock compound. They are all compatible, so there
shouldn't be any ill effects from the combination of them."

Cinnamon sent frantic nervous impulses to his larnyx which were never
acted upon. *Why?!* he cried in his mind. *What have I done?!*

Ashtoreth swallowed. "I'm afraid... that this is the ultimate
conclusion of our relationship..." he said, a tic pulling one side of
his muzzle into a snarl. "...we each have our little quirks... I am
sorry." He brushed his delicate black fingers over the wolf's chest,
over his pounding heart.

The fox padded off somewhere out of sight, and Cinnamon heard a
familiar dreadful clinking of metal in the background, which
immediately set his mind to screaming in mortal fear. *What have I
done?!!* Ashtoreth returned, placing an assortment of cutlery and
utility scissors on the table at Cinnamon's feet.

The fox took up the curved flaying knife and worked his way along
the front of Cinnamon's lower leg, stripping it bare in scant minutes.
Cinnamon lay there in horrified fascination as he felt the knife pass
through painless flesh as though his leg were no more substantial than
a stick of butter. Blood oozed slowly from myriad severed vessels,
flowering across the white linen. Ashtoreth detached the large muscles
there with deft swipes of a long sharp knife, and then sliced them
into thick slabs with a large butcher knife, heedlessly slashing the
tablecloth and marring the surface beneath. Ravenously the fox stuffed
pieces of the bloody meat into his mouth, swallowing thickly around
them, growling softly at the smell and taste of blood, his stomach
grumbling excitedly as it was given the first substantial thing it had
had in weeks. Before long Cinnamon's lower leg had been pared down to
a gruesome stick, but the wolf felt nothing, except the compelling
sensation of part of his body going away, like he was evaporating.
He could see nothing; occasionally his head was jogged by some
movement on the other end. He could smell the blood too, and wondered
if Ashtoreth was meant to display some example of his technique to the
wolves when they arrived... if he had only told Cinnamon beforehand...

Panting rapidly, his muzzle smeared in blood, Ashtoreth did the same
to Cinnamon's thigh, removing the skin and fur which he had so
laboriously restored months earlier and detaching thick sinewy slabs
of flesh to be sliced and gluttonously consumed. Cinnamon felt the
surface nerves boil away as this part of his body left him also...
horrified, he tried to imagine what the fox could be doing which was
so drastically affecting his ability to feel, wondering over and over
what his transgression had been, what he could have overlooked in his
servitude to the fox.

Ashtoreth dug at Cinnamon's hip with a short knife, trying to hack
away small, uncooperative pieces of meat; but he soon tired of this
and with a snarl he climbed onto the table, hunching over the wolf's
body and began to gnaw the meat from his bones directly, his small
sharp teeth quickly worrying pieces away... the blossoms of red grew
on the tablecloth beneath Cinnamon, flowing down the sides to drip
slowly onto the carpet.

Cinnamon told himself to calm... there was nothing he could do... it
was clearly some final test he would have to go through before the
wolves arrived, to test his trust and ability to hold to what he'd
been taught. He felt a little lightheaded, and tried to think of who
he might like to visit when he was allowed to travel further afield...
he let his mind wander, thinking of friends he hadn't seen in a while,
who might be glad to see him and hear that he had been
rehabilitated... perhaps he would go see his family, who he imagined
would be glad to hear from him after all this time... he had a lot to
tell them.... A shadow fell over his vision.

Cinnamon's heart skipped a beat.

Ashtoreth was leaning over him. His muzzle was covered in blood, his
eyes ringed in it. It was all down his pretty white chest fur and his
arms and seemed to seep from nowhere out of the black fur of his hands
onto the linen tablecloth, leaving red fox-prints. His long beautiful
hair was tangled and matted with it, dark strings. He looked blankly
down at Cinnamon, his jaws working around something dark and shiny,
and as the wolf watched Ashtoreth swallowed, apparently with great
effort to get the huge mouthful down. He licked his teeth, pearly red,
and hove out of Cinnamon's line of sight again. Cinnamon knew
immediately what was happening, and the weight that the word
"ultimate" had held.

*No, please!!* howled Cinnamon in his mind. *Please, master... I've
suffered... I've suffered!!* Tears began to ooze from the wolf's eyes,
trickling down onto the linen, feebly soaking it, but precious in the
ocean of red.

Ashtoreth straddled the gnawed bones of Cinnamon's legs, nosing into
the wolf's abdomen, which he had just brutally split open with one of
the knives, and chewing at his insides. His cock began to emerge,
smearing itself with gore as well, below his groaning belly. The fox
gripped Cinnamon's sides and nuzzled inward, gnawing and swallowing.
The wolf could feel nasty tearing sensations in his stomach, and
suddenly noticed with bright horror the blood running from the corners
of his own mouth now. Cinnamon's anguish revved faster and faster in
frustration as he could not even cry out. His sight was growing
darker, the faint ringing in his ears growing, along with all the tiny
sounds in the background, liquid sounds, the brush of fur on fabric,
tiny metal tinklings. *...suffered...* he thought, listening to his
breathing grow wet and bubbly.

Ashtoreth's stomach hitched, overfilled, and he vomited a bright
stream of blood and mangled meat onto the dining room carpet, where it
settled in a congealing splash. He leaned over the edge for a moment,
his eyes unfocused, strings of blood and saliva drizzling from his
muzzle onto the floor.

*...suffered...* thought Cinnamon, the black gauze enveloping him.

Ashtoreth spent the rest of the afternoon systematically stripping the
flesh from Cinnamon's bones, gorging himself on wolf-flesh and
periodically bringing it back up, warm soup of blood and meat washing
over the tablecloth, which looked as though it had never been any
color but red... Ashtoreth's white markings vanished under the stain.
He worried at the wolf's heart, making himself eat it even though it
was quite difficult to chew. He attempted to prize the wolf's skull
open with one of the knives and succeeded in breaking off the tip;
tossing this aside, he went at it with a screwdriver, with more
productive results... he clawed away the leathery covering beneath and
fell to devouring the brain inside, consuming it with great relish,
parts of his own subconscious screaming at him for the hideous act...
he rasped out the inside of the skull with his tongue.

When he had finished, he fell over onto his back in the midst of the
carnage, bloated and sticky and smelling like a charnel house, and it
was then that he had the furious urge to masturbate... his fox-cock
stretching unbidden from its sheath, he stroked it quickly with
gore-greased fingers and minutes later shrieked in pain as he was
rewarded with a wrenching orgasm which made his stomach hitch. He
swallowed resolutely, keeping his food down, and stared through the
ceiling, nasty shameful feelings filling his mind. Ashtoreth lay
there, trying to subside, trying to calm himself. A few minutes later
he went and got some old newspapers, and, leaving a trail of newsprint
before him, padded uncertainly up to have a shower. Before he stepped
under the running water he looked at himself in the mirror for a long
time, and began to cry quietly, ashamed at the sight, becoming
absorbed in self-loathing. He felt his hands slipping along the
countertop and left to take his shower.

Afterward he curled up tightly into himself in his empty bed, whining
quietly to himself, and drifted off into a dark, dreamless sleep.

                               * * *

Ashtoreth spent the next day pulling the carpet up out of his ruined
dining room and carrying it out to the backyard, which was actually a
large piece of property that he owned. He tossed it onto the leaves
that he had been dumping there since autumn; wrapped within were the
wolf's bones and pelt, and also the the tableclothes. He watched for a
while as the fire licked at the carpet and found it tasty, and then
disappeared back into the house, where he had a glass of lemonade
which he had made from the fruit on the tree in the front yard.

On the kitchen counter was the masterfully-cleaned skull of the wolf
he had murdered the previous day. He looked it over and wondered why
he ought to feel something more than he did. Ashtoreth gathered it up
and went down into the basement.

The basement looked ordinary enough, containing a water heater and the
central heating/cooling unit, as well as a lot of things which had
nowhere else to be but in basements; old board games, glassware, boxes
of books, tools, gardening equipment. There were two doors leading off
of this room. One led to the room in which he had kept Cinnamon for
the first part of his visit here. It was to the other door that
Ashtoreth went. He didn't like going in there, and so hastened towards
it so he could get it over with.

He unlocked the door and opened it, and pulled the string of the bare
bulb overhead, switching it on. It revealed a long, narrow passage,
about twenty feet long and three wide, with some unusual masonry. It
appeared to have a standard outer cinderblock wall, with an inner wall
also of cinderblock, only laying on their sides so that the entire
surface was honeycombed with little niches. Ashtoreth scuttled into
the room, tucked Cinnamon's skull into one of these, turned quickly on
his heel and left, arm snatching up to grab the pull-string behind him.

The bulb was quite old, and faded slowly, darkness falling on the
hundreds of skulls that stretched off into the distance.

                                 END